


Faster. Higher. Stronger.

by burkesl17



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Light Angst, M/M, Romance, Victuuri Big Bang 2017, Winter Olympics
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-03
Updated: 2017-07-03
Packaged: 2018-11-22 23:47:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,449
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11390943
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/burkesl17/pseuds/burkesl17
Summary: Yuuri and Victor and their experiences of the Winter Olympics through the years, from when they children to when they are finally together.





	Faster. Higher. Stronger.

**Author's Note:**

> Part of the Yuri!!! on Ice Reverse Big Bang, and written for Intothevoidofarts, my lovely artist who it has been a pleasure to work with, their great art can be found here - http://intothevoidofarts.deviantart.com/gallery/63496478/Faster-Higher-Stronger 
> 
> Faster, higher, stronger is the Olympic motto. The titles of each section are the mottos of that particular Olympic games. 
> 
> And with many thanks again, and as ever, to my great beta Mikimoo.
> 
> I hope you enjoy!

**Nagano 1998: Coexistence with nature**

**Yuuri, 5**

Minako had said it should win her good friend points for the next five years, but in reality she didn’t mind hanging out with Hiroko’s kids. Mari was easy to entertain with books, colouring and paints, and Yuuri was an adorable ball of energy.

She’d suggested he take up dance not just to get a new pupil, but because the boy needed a way to blow off steam, and it was already obvious he struggled with team sports and anything that involved making friends. He was probably going to inherit his parents’ chubby figures too.

She wasn’t teaching them today, but Hiroko had rung in a panic, a sudden influx of guests who hadn’t booked in advance, no babysitter free and could Minako watch them for a few hours, please?

And so that was how Minako ended up kneeling in front of Mari and Yuuri and asking what they wanted to do this afternoon.

The two children looked at each other, Yuuri tugging anxiously on the bottom of his jumper, and Mari finally rolled her eyes and said, “Ask, I know you want to.”

Yuuri beamed, a smile so bright it was like the sun coming out, and said in a rush, “Please can we go ice skating?”

“Ice skating?” Minako asked, surprised by the sudden rush of enthusiasm, she couldn’t remember Yuuri asking about it before. 

He was hopping from one foot to the other, and Mari sighed and said, “We watched the Olympics last night.”

“Aah. Did you enjoy it?” It had been the pair skating last night and Yuuri smiled nodded and blurted out, “It was so sparkly!”

“You liked the sparkles did you?”

“Yes Minako-sensei. I’d like to…” He twirled in what was probably an attempt at a pirouette, and then tried to slide across the driveway. “They looked like they were flying!”

She tried to keep a straight face, Mari was completely failing, but Yuuri didn’t seem to notice. “Ballet dancers fly too.”

“Yes I know, and I want to keep dancing, but I want to try skating too.”

He looked so serious, she couldn’t say no, even though Saturday afternoon was a terrible time to go and it would probably be filled by lots of other small children trying to skate, inspired by the Olympics.

Mira curled up in the stands with a colouring book and Minako helped Yuuri tie up his skates and take his first, awkward steps onto the ice. She wasn’t sure he was a natural really, but it was worth it to see him gliding towards her by the end of the hour, hands stretched out and smiling like a sunbeam.

**Victor, 9**

Victor was shoved into a corner of the couch at his Aunt Natasha’s house to watch the men’s free skate. His cousins were crushed in next to him and little Natalia kept elbowing his stomach, but he didn’t care because they’d been allowed to stay up to watch it.

It was because of him they’d been allowed to stay up. Because, as his Uncle Alex said, “One day, boy, you’re going to win too and pay your family back for how much we look after you, eh!”

His cousins and the children at school teased Victor about not having a Dad, but privately Victor thought not having a Dad at all was probably better than having Uncle Alex as a Dad. He always smelt slightly funny, like the older men at the rink after they’d finished practicing, but also of the vodka his mother very occasionally drank on special occasions. The smell wasn’t so bad, but Uncle Alex smelt of it all the time.

He watched the men warming up, different coloured shirts and jackets swirling by and thought how he’d rather be watching it at home. His Mama would probably be knitting, and he’d be able to lay down across the whole couch, but she had to work late tonight.

She often had to work late, and Victor understood. It paid for part of his skates and part of his time at the rink, which was the only place he was really him. He had to keep winning, keep doing well in all the local competitions he entered and he had to keep showing progress and being better than all the other boys his age, and then he could keep skating.

And one day, he was a bit vague on how this exactly worked, he would win all the big international competitions, including the Olympics, and he’d pay off all the debts Uncle Alex always said his mother owed them, all the food Victor ate when they were looking after him. He ate a lot, but it was only because he had to work so hard at skating.

Sometimes, on the days it was harder, Victor would picture which parts of the skates his mother paid for and which he did. He saw her as the laces and himself as the blade, though he was too young to have said why.

The skaters began and Victor watched each one carefully. Trying to judge what he thought against the scores. He didn’t like Ilia Kulik’s costume, it wasn’t pretty. He wasn’t sure about his programme either, even though he won. When Victor skated his routines, he tired to be what he was being as hard as he could. If he was being a snowflake, no one spun better. If he was a leaf, he felt the wind under his arms, and the rain on his face. He’d been an arctic fox last year, and he’d got books out of the library and studied everything about them. His mother had taped a TV documentary which had them in, and he’d watched the clips for hours, the way the foxes leapt and trotted across the ice. He’d sat there winding the tape back and watching the fox jump backwards too, with lines stuttering across the screen, just as avidly as he watched it leap forwards for a mouse buried beneath the snow.

He'd been that fox in the final performance. And as a result he was going to be spending his summer at a skating camp that normally only took boys a year older than him.

Even when he didn’t have to be anything particular in his performance, he made something up. A prince slaying a dragon, a soldier in a war, anything really as long as it shone out of him.

Watching Kulik’s performance, Victor didn’t feel it. Oh he could do lots of things Victor couldn’t do yet, but that wasn’t the point. He wasn’t feeling anything that Victor could see.

When Victor’s mother picked him and held his hand as they walked to the metro she asked how he’d enjoyed it. 

Victor kicked the snow with his toe and said, “When I win the Olympics I’m going to be better than all of them.”

She smiled at him and said, “I’m sure you will, sweetheart, I’m sure you will.”

**Salt Lake 2002: Light the Fire Within**

**Yuuri, 9**

Yuuri and Yuko were a bit young to watch The Man in the Iron Mask, but Yuko’s older sister had a copy and they’d watched it several times.

Yuuri said he liked the sword fighting, and the story, but he also liked looking at Leonardo Di Caprio. He had long blond hair, and Yuuri couldn’t quite say what the feeling was he felt in his stomach when he saw it, and he wasn’t sure whether he liked that feeling, but he didn’t want it to stop either.

He’d been excited when he’d seen Alexei Yagudin was skating a programme based on the film. The music was really good and he liked Yagudin’s simple costume, the gold mask on the black top.

Everyone at the onsen had been disappointed that the top Japanese skater, Honda, had missed out on a medal. He’d been in second after the short programme, but pushed back down by one of the Russians. Yuuri hadn’t actually enjoyed his routine that much, but he kept quiet about that whilst they watched.

The next day he was humming The Man in the Iron Mask music as he skated before his lesson really began. He spun in a circle and held out his hand, drawing it down over his face, trying to remember how Yagudin had looked, the way he’d moved that had been so sad.

He moved through the routine he was learning, but not trying to think about the steps but about what he showed on his face, how he used his expressions, his stance to say something. He was so lost in it he didn’t notice the people laughing at him, until one of them skated right into him, pushing him against the barriers at the side of the rink.

“Move over fatty!” 

It knocked the breath out of him and he blinked up at the boys skating away, fast across the ice. He felt like crying for a moment, but he angrily blinked back the tears and forced himself to skate out again. He didn’t lose himself in the music again, one eye on where they were, but also trying really hard to be better than they were. More elegant, looser, just…something that made him better than them, even if he wasn’t as fast. Or as skinny. He wanted to show them. Show them that he was better than them.

“Yuuri!” He turned to see his coach skating towards him. “Were you trying to imitate Yagudin? That was wonderful.”

He turned towards the older boys, huddled at the other end of the rink now. “Coach? I want to go to the Olympics one day, I want to skate for Japan.”

She looked at him solemnly, assessing. It wasn’t the first time she’d looked at him like that, but there was a weight to it this time and it felt like a very, very long time before she replied.

“I think you could, Yuuri. I really think you could.”

**Victor, 13**

When Yagudin skated out onto the ice for the free skate, Victor’s heart was in his mouth. He wanted Russia to do well, and he loved Yagudin’s music, his routine and the expressions on his face.

One of the older skaters who was injured and couldn’t go to the Olympics had organised a viewing for all the juniors and others not there. They were all crammed in on cheap plastic chairs, banging elbows, cheering and waving Russian flags whenever one of their skaters went out. 

Victor had grabbed a chair right at the front and was waving his flag the hardest and cheering the loudest out of all of them.

He felt like he flew every jump with each skater, hung in the air, spun with them and could feel the cold air, on his face, his lungs gasping, his legs shaking, the roar and election of the crowd. When Yagudin looked like he nearly stumbled on the triple axel, Victor felt like he was going to fall out of his chair and when he recovered perfectly he practically shrieked. At the end of the routine, he hugged everyone he could, lifted and delighted by how well Yagudin had done.

But afterwards, as everyone else left to celebrate he went back to the ice alone.

It was wonderful to watch someone else win, but it was even better to do it yourself and Victor resented every day of the two years that kept him from being eligible to compete. But he knew even if he was there he wouldn’t have won today, he couldn’t land a quad yet, he wasn’t even supposed to try.

The rink was deserted now, it was getting really late. His mother might even be home. He felt a sudden stab of rage, unexpected in how fierce it was, for all the hints his uncle was dropping about money she should be paying him, for the father he didn’t know who wasn’t helping her, for their frumpy little apartment, and his tiny bedroom in it. For the fact she probably thought he couldn’t hear her crying through the walls at night.

He finished warming up and dashed out onto the ice, going straight into a double axel. He two-footed it with a crunch.

This wasn’t helping anything. He went over to the tape deck and put in the cassette of his music, buried in the stack, like it wasn’t important to anyone at all.

He’d show them. He started back to the centre of the rink and then stopped, let the music fill him and breathed in, breathed out, breathed in, breathed out.

Skating full of rage wasn’t going to help anything or change anything. He had to tamp down that fire, he had to look how the piece demanded. Light, happy, smiling in this case. His anger didn’t matter now, it wasn’t important now.

The music ended and then began again and he stretched into the opening movement. This was his celebration for Russia’s win, preparation for the next Olympics when Russia would win again, when he would win. The routine was lovely, pretty, sparkly, and Victor concentrated on making his face, his whole body be light as blossom in a spring breeze.

As he built up to the triple loop he thought for a moment, could he make a quad? He wasn’t supposed to even try them, but tonight, maybe tonight. He went slightly faster, he knew the theory, and he jumped…

One, two, three, four and then he fell on the ice hard. The breath was knocked out of him, the jarring impact smacked through him, but he rolled on his back laughing, because he’d done it. Badly and imperfectly maybe, but he’d done it!

He allowed himself a few seconds of triumph before he pushed himself to his feet and skated over to start the tape again. Two more run throughs and he’d go home. 

Maybe three.

**Turin 2006: La passione vive qui (Passion lives here)**

**Yuuri, 13**

Yuuri tucked up his knees underneath him as the Olympic logo flashed across the screen and hugged himself tightly. The skaters before Victor were beautiful too, and he was gripped by the way they moved and danced across the ice. 

But then Victor skated out.

His short programme a few days ago had been gorgeous, and he was currently in third place. There had been a lot of talk on the skating forums about whether that was fair or not. He had some scarily intense fans who thought he should have come first, and on the other side of it some who thought he’d been over-scored as the shiny, new thing.

Yuuri knew he had a lot to learn about competitive skating and he tried to learn from how their performances affected their scores, but whilst he could follow the other skaters, he couldn’t concentrate on the numbers with Victor. Yuuri’s heart raced as he watched, because he’d seen Victor be beautiful before, he’d seen him be skilled before or talented before, but he hadn’t seen it all come together this perfectly before. 

He didn’t want the performance to end and as Victor spun into his final pose he realised he had moved right up to the television, one of his hands raised almost touching the screen. As the crowd started screaming, Victor slumped for a moment before raising his head with a beaming smile and speeding towards the side of the rink.

He looked so happy, so confident. Yuuri, who was not beautiful, not slim, didn’t have long hair that looked like starlight and was neither particularly happy, or confident, wanted nothing more than to be him. It was possible there was nothing he wanted more than to kiss him either, but that thought led to a hurt he didn’t want to dwell on.

He hardly slept, the image of Victor’s spins and outstretched legs burning in his mind. Even when he managed to get some release he couldn’t sleep well afterwards.

When the morning came he actually dragged himself out of bed for once and jogged to the rink. He had an hour before school and he spent every second of it in spins, in getting them to be as close to Victor’s perfection as he could.

Nine months later, when he walked into his first major junior championship he pictured Victor on the ice, pictured Victor at the Olympics, at Worlds, beautiful like moonlight, and he skated to a gold medal.

**Victor, 17**

Victor flew off the ice towards Yakov, his arms outstretched, the screams and cheers filling the whole room. His legs were on fire, his vision a blur of lights, colour and tears and when he reached Yakov he flung his arms around his neck.

Victor was laughing as hard as he was crying and Yakov squeezed him briefly before setting him back down on his feet and pushing him towards the kiss and cry.

“You did well but your free leg was better at Nationals, and the landing on the…”

He was easy to tune out though as Victor waved at all the fans, and blew them kisses and Yakov pushed him down onto the bench.

“That was the best I’ve performed…the absolute best!”

“The landing on the lutz and…”

He didn’t register the rest, he’d think it through later, but he didn’t register it at all now. And then the scores appeared and his hands flew to his mouth, for a moment he struggled to breathe. 

They were his personal best free skate scores and a world record. It was enough, clearly more than enough to push him into first place and the two men still left to skate would almost certainly not be able to come.

He leant against Yakov, almost hyperventilating with joy. 

Later with the gold around his neck, the Russian anthem playing in the background he found the television cameras and beamed for everyone back home. Every child with a dream, everyone who created something beautiful and struggled for it, even every potential sponsor who wanted someone new and gifted and gold, and every member of his family he owed. Stepping into the glare of the flashing camera lights he felt like he was flying away from them, and their talk of debts that had been like lead wings.

Everyone wanted to talk to him, touch him, to hug him and embrace him. As the night wore on, a beautiful speed skater put his arms around Victor’s neck, and another one kissed him and a whole group of athletes went back to the speed skater’s room. The night was as glorious as the skating, pleasure leading to pleasure until the room was streaked with the morning sun.

Back in his room he staggered to the shower, and then collapsed on the bed. He was exhausted and euphoric, aching and numb, elated and drained. Just for a moment, as his hand stretched out on the bed, he thought it would be nice not to be alone right now. But the bed was just a narrow single, and there wasn’t any room for anyone else.

**Vancouver 2010: With glowing hearts**

**Yuuri, 17**

Yuuri wasn’t sure he was even going to watch the Olympics. He hadn’t qualified. His mistakes at Four Continents had knocked down Japan’s slots, and even though everyone said he was the most talented of the senior Japanese men, the Federation had been clear they were sending people who were perhaps less elegant skaters, but also less likely to have a nervous break down at the first sign of pressure.

He hadn’t really had an argument to that, and so here he was, sitting with his feet in the onsen, contemplating his future, rather than skating with his competitors in Canada.

Competitors. What a joke.

“Yuuri?”

He jumped at the sound of his name and looked up to see his coach in the doorway.

“What are you doing here?”

She walked carefully over to him and sat down at the edge of the water.

“I thought I’d come and watch the skating with you, but your parents said you were out here.”

Yuuri sighed. “Is there any point? I’ll never be as good as them.”

“You know you could be. You are. But not with me.”

Yuuri looked up in surprise.

“I don’t have what it takes to reach you, to help you fulfill your potential. You should have been there today, and I need to take responsibility for that.”

“I can take responsibility for my own mistakes.”

“And dwell on them to the exclusion of focusing on your strengths. And I’ve helped enable that in you.”

They sat in silence for a moment, staring into the water. Yuuri felt incredibly awkward, and even more guilty than before. The awkwardness stuck in his throat as he groped for something, anything, to say, but she spoke first.

“I think you should look outside of Japan for a coach. I’m not sure anyone based here is right for you. You need a real change.”

Leave? Yuuri looked up at the sky through the wisps of steam. It was a cold, clear night and the stars were sparkling above them. He’d never really thought of leaving Japan for good. He’d grown up here, knew every centimetre of Hatesu. He'd struggled a bit in the foreign tournaments he’d gone to so far, his English was far from perfect. Leaving would be a huge wrench.

But if it meant he started to win at Four Continents, the Grand Prix, Worlds, even the next Olympics? It would be worth it. 

“Let’s go inside and watch the last skaters.”

Yuuri nodded and followed him inside in time to see Victor skating out. He hadn’t been quite as on form this year following an injury that had apparently happened during training. But, to Yuuri, he was still skating beautifully. 

This free skate music was a fairly somber piece, with Victor wearing a navy blue and silver costume that made him look older than he had before, and admittedly even Yuuri would say it probably didn’t light up the world like some of Victor’s previous routines, but he still looked utterly stunning as the music began.

Watching him, with the Pacific Ocean between them, Yuuri nodded to himself. If he had to move countries and leave his home to be up there with Victor in four years time, he’d do it. He’d do whatever he had to do.

**Victor, 21**

He woke up the morning of his free skate with his knee aching and seized up. Victor dragged himself up to a sitting position and stretched it out, slowly going through the physiotherapy exercises, but whilst the joint loosened up they didn’t do much to help the pain.

He knew that he was lucky to be competing at all, but he didn’t feel lucky right now. He’d fallen working on the quad flip over the summer and he could still remember the horrible crunch his knee had given as he’d landed on the ice. It had been the sound he’d registered first, in the split second as the air was knocked out of him, before the pain had hit. Aching agony that started in his knee but then shot up his thigh and down his calf.

He’d tried to stand up, but it had been like his leg didn’t belong to him and he’d been gasping for breath, tears filling his eyes, when Yakov reached him.

He’d pushed him to stay down and Victor had buried his face in Yakov’s jacket and just tried to keep breathing.

Then there’d been the rush to the hospital, and then surgery and months of dreary, repetitive physio to get him in shape for the upcoming season. He’d put up with it of course, because what else could he do, he wasn’t anything if he wasn’t a skater, but it had sucked the joy of the previous run of successful seasons right out of him. He’d been lonely too, without others at the rink to interact with.

There hadn’t been enough time to work on his programmes in person either, and although the music was lovely and the costumes gorgeous, Victor personally felt they lacked depth and soul.

The short programme had gone better than expected, and he was in second place, but as he slowly stood up and paced carefully up and down his room he knew he’d have to downgrade his last quad to triple. He was going to need luck to defend his gold from four years ago.

He reached the window and looked out at the Olympic village. It was early but there were plenty of people already up as the sun rose, a thin light that struggled weakly through thick clouds. He dressed stiffly and made his way out into the cold morning light.

Yakov took one look at the way he was walking in the canteen and pursed his lips together, but didn’t say anything until Victor had sat down with a fruit salad and protein shake.

“How bad is it?” Yakov murmured, glancing around to make sure no one could overhear them. Victor shrugged and listlessly stabbed a piece of pineapple.

“No point even trying the flip. I should still manage three quads.”

“The spins.”

The pineapple was too sweet and Victor picked out a piece of apple to slowly chew before answering.

“The skate isn’t for hours yet.”

Yakov stared at him and nodded slowly as he leaned back.

When it was time for his skate, Victor did his absolute best, as always, he couldn’t do anything else. But he knew it wasn’t up to his usual level and although he smiled for the cameras and the crowd at the end of the skate, the whole thing was tarred by him not performing his best. 

He watched the scores come up slightly numbly, even as he smiled and waved. If people beat him because they were better that was one thing, if they beat him because he was average that was deeply disappointing. 

“You realise you’re lucky to be here at all, Victor? You skated well.”

Victor’s smile didn’t drop at all as he replied, “You don’t need to coddle me, Yakov. I know how I skated.”

“When have I ever coddled you?”

He got bronze, but only because Cao Bin who had previously been in first skated a nerve wracked programme riddled with errors. The main joy he felt was watching Chris get gold, he felt absolutely delighted for him as Chris stood above him on the podium, beaming and smiling and kissing his medal over and over again.

The night was far less of a blur than last year, with Chris the brilliant star in the centre everything revolved around. Victor’s leg hurt far too much for dancing, but he beamed and toasted Chris every time his friend looked his way.

He didn’t begrudge Chris a second of the attention he was getting, but it was a real contrast to Turin and he wondered how much of the attention he’d had in the last four years had been about him and how much about the medals around his neck?

Well the only answer to that was to get over this stupid injury and start winning them again.

**Sochi 2014: Hot. Cool. Yours.**

**Yuuri, 21**

Yuuri panicked as he saw Victor walking towards him for the third time in a week. Whilst Victor seemed to be friendly and polite to everybody, fans or other skaters, Yuuri couldn’t think of a single thing to say to him. 

He was sure if he actually managed to win, or at least make the podium he’d be able to find something to say then. Congratulations between competitors, possibly with an acknowledgement of a small part of what Victor had meant to him over the years. A casual, but dignified conversation.

As whatever he said now would inevitably be garbled and ridiculous however, Yuuri ducked between two buildings and pretended to be looking at his schedule.

It was stupid really. Whilst he’d like to think Victor would recognise him, he was surrounded by his whole entourage as usual, and none of the people around him were going to recognise a plain, quiet, middle ranked skater.

Once the bright swirl of them had gone past Yuuri let out a breath and walked on, running over the moves of his routine in his head again. He had to be perfect, and not let his nerves get the best of him tonight. He looked back towards Victor’s group, and just caught a glimpse of his silver hair glinting in the sun, before he turned out of sight.

Later, Celestino would say a lot of good things about his performance. So would his rink mates back in Detroit and his parents would tell him how incredibly proud they were, but he knew he’d been in a good position after the short programme. In sixth, he had virtually no chance of a gold, but the points difference between himself and the two men above him was tiny, and it was possible he could grab bronze.

But it was not to be. He’d tightened up with nerves before the skate even started, he couldn’t stop jittering and his hands were shaking. He saw Victor further down the hall, dropping into graceful stretches, looking elegant even just doing something so basic.

Victor glanced up towards him and Yuuri quickly stormed away. His mind a blank apart from an ever-increasing sense of panic.

He skated out onto the ice, legs feeling like lead. He managed his first quad, but fell on the second and virtually gave up on the quads at that point. His triple axel was fine, and his spins and step sequence was alright, but as he made his final pose he knew it would take a miracle to reach the podium. He dropped his head into hands at the kiss and cry and just soaked in the feeling of failure. When the scores actually came through they were higher than he anticipated, but it meant he finished in eighth place.

The flight wasn’t for a few days and he spent them hiding from everyone, and especially trying to ensure he didn’t accidentally run into Victor, who had won of course, or the other top skaters.

He did see Victor once more. Not in the Olympic Village, but alone by the beach watching his dog play in the surf. Yuuri gazed at him for a long minute, but then shook his head and walked away.

  **Victor, 24**

Victor was of course delighted to win in Sochi. It was an excellent programme, excellent music, excellent costume. It just epitomised all round excellence.

The crowd surrounded him, fluttering around as usual, during every moment he wasn’t on the ice. His coach, his physiotherapist, his masseur, his sponsors, officials, fans, the other skaters, he was barely alone for a minute. And that was perfect, he really didn’t need time to think.

He felt like he was skating over the thinnest of ice and if he stopped even for a moment and allowed himself to think the ice would shatter beneath his skates, and he didn’t know what he’d fall into.

It was fine during the day, but the nights were long and it was hard to fill them at first as everyone was preparing for their events and getting early nights. It was one good thing about the Olympics being held this far south, there was more daylight in the sky than up in Saint Petersburg.

After the skating events were over, there were parties and ways to fill the evenings along with the days, and it was all lovely and everything he’d ever wanted. And there was no reason at all not to feel completely happy. If he didn’t, well, Worlds was coming up in April.

The only disruption in the smooth flow of the days was Yakov’s latest protege. Yakov had brought him and a few other young skaters along to the Olympics and Victor walked towards them all with big easy smile and a wink. They all fluttered backwards, one of the girls brought her hand up to her lips and blushed, one of the boys gasped and reached out slightly towards him.

But one of them didn’t move backwards. A blond boy looked Victor up and down and said, “I saw your short programme.”

“Oh?” Victor beamed. “Did you like it?”

The boy shrugged, “It was better at Nationals. Next Olympics I’m going to beat you.” He stalked off with Yakov following, yelling, “Yuuri! Come back here, you…” Victor blinked at him and grinned at the boy, he was adorable.

He walked out onto the beach one evening and watched Makkachin jumping through the waves at the edge of the sea. This was a moment, just for the two of them and it was a quiet, beautiful thing. Gulls soared over the water, maybe next year his programme could try and pick up birds over the ocean. It probably wasn’t a strong enough story for the free skate, but it could work for the short programme. 

He glanced up and saw someone in the distance, also watching the sea. He started to raise his hand, not quite sure why, but they turned and walked away.

**PyeongChang 2018: Passion. Connected.**

**Yuuri, 25**

His legs were trembling, his heart was pounding, his mouth was dry. Victor’s hand landed on his shoulder and then his arm slid round Yuuri’s body and pulled him close before kissing his neck.

“Are you ready, Yuuri?”

Was he ready? He was in first, Victor in second and Yurio third. 

Out on the ice, Otabek went into an excellent spin and he pushed his head back against Victor’s shoulder. “You’re on before me, shouldn’t I be asking you that?”

Victor huffed slightly into his hair. “I’m ready, this is the most exciting Olympics I’ve ever been in.”

Yuuri turned in his arms and raised his hands to cup Victor’s face. The look of love in his eyes was almost too much to take some times, but right now it filled him with warmth.

“Even compared to your first?”

“My first…” Victor looked up and across the ice. “My first Olympics was amazing, and I’m proud of it, but it could never be the best.” He turned back to look in Yuuri’s eyes. “You weren’t there.”

There was so much he could say, but it all just stuck in his throat and he moved forward and kissed Victor lightly. Far lighter than he wanted but anything deeper would leave him feeling too much for this moment.

“Go and skate your best, Victor.”

Victor reluctantly pulled away, his hands dragging down Yuuri’s arms.

“I will.”

Yuuri gave him a thumbs up as he left and Victor smiled back at him as he skated out.

Technically, perhaps, it wasn’t Victor’s best. He didn’t match Yuuri’s free skate world record, and the commentators would point out that at 28, he didn’t have quite the flexibility of his younger self, and he certainly couldn’t match Yuuri Plisetsky’s.

But Yuuri didn't see the flaws. He just saw the love. Love poured out of Victor’s performance, it was embodied in the grace, in the way he flew across the ice, the incredible jumps and spins and perfect landing. All of it was love, their love. 

He felt tears building up in his eyes. And Victor flew towards him and the crowd screamed for him. They kissed briefly, and Victor squeezed his hands and murmured, “Surprise me.”

Yuuri nodded firmly and skated out, doing a few warm up laps and then going into his opening pose. He felt completely clear headed as he moved as the music began, the only way to answer the love in Victor’s performance, was with the love he carried inside him too.

**Victor, 28**

Yuuri dropped to his knees after his free skate. It had been perfect, a new world record perfect, and he’d earned every tear he was sobbing into his hands.

It felt like Yakov’s hand was the only thing holding him back from dashing out onto the ice to hold Yuuri and kiss him over and over again and tell him everything about how amazing that almost flawless performance was. 

He managed to hold off though until Yuuri shakily got to his feet and reached the edge of the rink. When they met at the edge of the rink their kisses tasted like tears.

He’d never been happier to get silver. As he looked up at Yuuri, beaming like sunshine, his heart seemed to swell three sizes and he wanted to reach for Yuuri’s hand, but also didn’t want to steal anything from his moment. He glanced over at Yurio too, who was staring fiercely at the ice, as if wanted to burn it with his eyes

After the medal ceremony, and after they'd got changed, everyone was heading off to parties, to celebrate or commiserate, dance or cry, but Victor took Yuuri’s hand and pulled him to the side of the quiet rink. The lights were dim and there were just a few cleaning staff up in the seats, but that was it.

There was no reason to be this nervous, they’d been engaged for over a year, but his heart was racing as he took Yuuri’s hand and raised it to his lips.

“We should get married now.”

Yuuri turned towards him, with huge, wide eyes and then slowly started to smile and cry again, nodding frantically and pulling Victor towards him and kissing him frantically. They were laughing between kisses and this was joy like he’d never felt before.

 **Berlin 2038: Ice shines like love**

Yuuri and Victor, 44 and 48

Yuuri glared at Victor and pulled the back of his jacket back to drag him back into his seat. 

“You’ll put her off if you keep waving like that.”

Victor pouted at him, “I want her to know we’re here.”

“She knows.”

On the ice their beautiful daughter moved into the starting pose of her free skate, head up looking towards the stars, like the ones that scattered her costume. The opening notes began and she began to skate.

Yuuri dropped his head on Victor’s shoulder and squeezed his hand. Victor wrapped his arm around Yuuri and they watched their daughter dazzle in the lights, dancing from star to star between galaxies.

When she finished, crying and laughing in triumph, Victor pulled Yuuri close and kissed him joyfully and the pride in his heart was brighter than every gold medal he’d ever won himself.


End file.
